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The dazzling white shirt made his tan look even darker, his eyes bluer, his hair blacker. He adjusted his black tie in the small mirror inside his locker door and grinned. "Looking good," he murmured to his reflection, zipping the jacket up to the prescribed four inches from the top. Even if he seemed to be the only one who thought so. When it came to dating he was in less of a dry spell than an arid wasteland. Six months since Tony had left without a backward glance, his final words a complaint as he'd tripped over Rick's backpack. Tony. Now there was a city boy, born and bred. The closest Rick had come to showing Tony the woods had been a picnic in the park across the street from the museum. And Tony had managed to infuriate a bee into stinging him and, well, that was the last time they did that. And since Tony, the only man he was even vaguely attracted to who'd given him a look that lingered, warm and appreciative, was the Professor and Rick didn’t even know his name. Plus, the guy hadn't been around for a few weeks before Rick's vacation so it had been a month since they'd shared one of their interrupted conversations. The Professor was maybe a few years younger than Rick's twenty-nine. The nickname still suited him though; he was all lanky limbs and studious face, with eyes the brown of fall leaves, blinking curiously behind his glasses. His long hair was fine and silky, matching his eyes, caught back in a ponytail, the ends chopped off straight and neat. He dressed in faded black jeans, worn to a silvery-white at knees and ass, and white T-shirts loose enough that most people probably didn't notice the broad shoulders inside. Rick did. He'd noticed the Professor from the first day he'd shown up, a sketchpad in hand and a backpack Rick was fairly sure was filled with forbidden food and drink because once he settled in front of a painting or an artifact, the man didn't move for hours. Which was how long Rick would have liked to stay and chat, but unlike the Professor, he had his rounds to do, his wide belt weighed down with a radio, heavy flashlight, and a never-used nightstick, his gaze traveling over the visitors with a casual, friendly regard that he could sharpen and focus into a glare if needed. So he'd only ever paused long enough to exchange a sentence or two, getting the Professor's ready grin as a greeting, and the conversation was picked up every time he strolled by, as if there had been no gap. Kind of like playing a chess game by mail, maybe. Return to Home Click here to e-mail the author |